


The Aftermath is Sometimes the Worst

by Shadow15



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Brock Rumlow Has A Heart, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Can't Consent to Anything, Bucky Gets Forced into All Kinds of Sexual Situations, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gaslighting, HYDRA Trash Party, It's Rollins Who's the Asshole, M/M, Manipulation, Toxic Relationships, creepy Jack Rollins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow15/pseuds/Shadow15
Summary: Brock knew, deep down, his relationship with Jack wasn't normal. Maybe it was the way he always found himself flinching away when Jack's tone hardened just that tiny bit more, or maybe it was the bruise marks on his arms and hips from where Jack had held him just a little harder than he should.But Brock also knew in his heart that he loved Jack, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to please him and get Jack's affection and approval. Jack knows that as well, and there was nothing he loved more than taking advantage of that and seeing what he can make Brock do. Even if it involves the Winter Soldier.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Jack Rollins, James "Bucky" Barnes/Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

Dysfunctional was surely, by this point, Jack Rollins’ middle name. Hell, by this point it was probably a _requirement_ for the line of work that he was in. But there was a fine line to just how much dysfunction people were allowed to witness, and most people who knew him only saw that he was an every-day, average guy, with their own suspicions that he may get a _little_ abusive behind the scenes. 

Just a little, though; his partner never really seemed to complain much. At least, that Jack took notice of, anyway. 

“I’ll be gone a few days. Be back Monday if we get this guy’s brains plastered on the walls within schedule.” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed. From where he lay on his king-sized bed, his hands clenched into fists, his grip on the bed sheets so tight, they tore. His tone was almost scathing as he growled from deep within his chest, “Where to this time, Rumlow? With who?” 

“Barceloni with the asset.” From the other side of the room, Brock Rumlow gave slight pause in packing his travel bag. There was a subtle hunch of his shoulders, so subtle that no one would have noticed unless they had actively been watching for it.

Except Jack. Jack always noticed every tiny thing Brock did.

Brock was glad his back was to Jack when his facial expression twisted into a flinch at Jack’s displeased grunt. “You gonna fuck it, Rumlow? Get it on its hands and knees and ram your cock into it?” 

Brock shook his head. He grit his teeth and tried to cool his temper as he forced out as calmly as he could, “You know I don’t touch him, Jack…” 

“Only all those other men you sleep with behind my back, right?” There was something dark in Jack’s eyes now, and if Brock had turned around to see it, his stomach would have felt queasy. 

“Fuck off, you _tell_ me to sleep with ‘em so you can watch!” Brock snapped back. He pushed his travel bag away aggressively, but still, he kept his back turned. Sometimes things were easier like that. 

Jack gave a non-committal hum. “It’s only the girls you like to fuck without being told, right? When you need to be warmed up on a long mission and you’re away from me?” 

“Fuck you, asshole! You think I -” For all of Brock’s explosive temper, there was just something about Jack that had him quickly shutting his mouth and looking away. Perhaps it was _the look_. Perhaps it was just the constant burning desire within him to always please Jack. 

Either way, Brock wasn’t oblivious to the tension in his shoulders as he moulded his expression into what could almost have been blank had it not been for the tight set of his jaw as he stared down. 

Jack’s dark expression smouldered at Brock’s obedience. Calmly, too calmly, he murmured, “That’s good, baby. Remember who you’re talking to.”

Brock’s fingers twitched with the need to lash out, to let his temper roar like a raging volcano and maybe throw in a few good punches while he was at it.

But he knew he couldn’t. Not when this was _Jack,_ and all Brock wanted was for Jack to love him.

But Jack wasn’t finished. His voice lowered into something that was almost a purr now, something low and sweet sounding but _dangerous_ , a honey to Brock’s ears that Brock knew deep down only meant he would get hurt.

“You know I don’t like it when you go alone with the asset, baby,” Jack drawled. “I know you think about fucking it.”

“I don’t!” Brock snapped. And it was the truth, but no matter how many times Brock tried to explain to Jack that he had nothing more than a soft spot for HYDRA’s best weapon, Jack refused to accept it.

“Yes, you do.” Jack continued on with that honeyed-up voice. “I know you do, baby. It’s okay to admit it. I mean… I really won’t mind as long as you’ll let me see~”

“I fuckin’ _don’t_! I –“

“Come here, sweetheart.” Jack’s voice was calm, gentle, and _soft._ That was why it was dangerous, and Brock should obey if he had any sense of self-preservation.

But Brock _didn’t_ have any sense of self-preservation, so he shook his head and gritted out, “No, Jack, I’m not in the mood. I’m tryin’ to pack and –“

“- It wasn’t a request. Now come here.” Jack’s tone was hard now, and when Brock hesitated yet again, Jack got up from the bed and wrapped his arms around Brock’s chest, dragging him onto the mattress. He ignored Brock’s flailing and yells so he could instead growl in his lover’s ear, “When I tell you to come to bed, I _mean it_.”

“Wait, Jack, no! I’m not in the mood!” Brock rarely resisted against Jack. He wasn’t sure if it was because he knew how pointless it was, how much stronger Jack was and how easily Jack could pin him down and take from him whatever he wanted. But then again, it could also have been because Brock knew, no matter how much he wouldn’t admit it, it was always easier when he didn’t struggle.

Jack’s hand glided down Brock’s stomach and to the front of his pants. He cupped the soft bulge and gave it a squeeze, nibbling at Brock’s earlobe. His breath was hot against Brock’s cheek when he let go to murmur, “You will be, baby~ You’ll enjoy it. You always do.”

And what made Brock feel the sickest about the entire situation was knowing that Jack was right. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jack had a way of getting into Brock’s mind and manipulating him into doing things he wouldn’t normally do otherwise. If Brock realised, he didn’t show it - if anything, he allowed himself to be strung along like a puppet. 

“Come on, just touch it. Just this once.” The van bouncing on uneven road did little to deter Jack from his persuasions; not when he was sitting on the bench next to the Asset, determined to get Brock to play the game, too.

Brock sent a worried glance to the Winter Soldier’s face, relieved beyond words that the Asset was blindfolded and unable to see his expression. But his stomach still sunk with dread at the realisation that the Asset could probably sense his discomfort, the creepy fucker that he was. He chewed at his lip before he growled to Jack, “You want me to get my fuckin’ head ripped clean off, Rollins?” 

“Aww, come on, don’t be like that, honey; it’s as harmless as a kitten right now~” Jack purred. He stroked his fingertips along the Soldier’s side as if to prove his point. “Aren’t you, sweetheart~? All sweet and tied up and drugged for us~” 

Brock ignored the slurred mumblings of the Winter Soldier from behind his mask and instead moved close to undo the bindings that kept the Asset’s wrists bound behind his back. Brock shook his head as his nimble fingers worked at the rope deftly. “Jack, what have you given him? He’s meant to be mission-ready and you’ve just gone and fucked him up.” 

“Is that  _ sympathy  _ in your voice, Rumlow? For  _ that thing _ ?” Jack sneered. “For something that’ll just cut your throat the first chance it  _ gets _ ?” 

Brock stilled his fingers. It wasn’t entirely true, but with fuck knows what and _ how much _ of the drugs running through his system, it was likely that the Asset  _ would  _ try and off them, if only out of a confusion and bodily discomfort he hadn’t been trained to tolerate. 

Brock pulled away from the Asset, and Jack’s victory sneer would have sent chills down stronger mens’ spines. 

Jack reached out to rest his palm against the asset’s clothed crotch with faux gentleness. He smiled at Brock, sweet and inviting but  _ dangerous _ all at the same time. “Come on, Brock. Just touch it a little. It’s so  _ hard  _ for you~” 

“He’s hard ‘cause you fuckin’  _ drugged  _ him to be hard!” Brock exasperated. 

Jack gave no verbal response to those words; he only snatched Brock’s wrist and forced it next to his. He maneuvered his hand to rest on top of Brock’s, using his digits to push Brock’s fingers into a forced rhythm of massaging the bulge beneath their hands. 

“Hey there, sweetheart~” Jack’s purr was a deep, unsettling rumble from his chest, and the way he reached out slowly to grab the Asset’s face by his jaw was somehow even more frightening. Jack lowered the blindfold just enough so that he could stare into the Asset’s empty eyes, his shark grin returning full force as he pushed his thumb beneath the kevlar mask and rubbed sweetly against the Asset’s lips. “You’re real pretty, you know. Such a pretty little thing. So  _ good  _ for us, aren’t you~?” 

Brock’s expression was stricken, and when the Asset gave an involuntary moan beneath the touch, he felt as if all the long-buried guilt and self-loathing hit him like a cement truck. Tears welled in his eyes for a brief second before he blinked them back furiously and struggled. 

“No, Jack! Fuck off!” Brock tried, perhaps harder than he ever had in his life for anything, but Jack was stronger and kept him there. His bottom lip trembled as he realised he was trapped, and all he could do was slump forward and give in to Jack working his hand over the Asset. 

“See, he likes this, babe,” Jack comforted when the Soldier gave another moan and bucked his hips into the touch. “You’re making him feel so  _ good _ ~” 

“Fuck you, asshole,” Brock sobbed. “Fuck you.”

“No, it’s the other way around, sweetheart, but if you really want, I’ll let the Asset fuck you.” Without warning, Jack’s hand stilled immediately, a displeased sneer crossing his face. In the blink of an eye, he struck like a snake, his pistol pulled from his holster and cracked around the Asset’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The Asset made no sound, gave no acknowledgement he’d even felt the hit; he only slumped where he sat, his breathing heavy and strangled by the thick kevlar over his mouth. “What the fuck?! What the  _ fuck?! _ ” 

“He  _ came,  _ you asshole,” Brock sniffed. “What did you  _ think  _ was gonna happen when he ain’t been touched in seventy years? Think he was gonna fuckin’ last for hours or somethin’...?” 

Jack’s hands shot out and snatched the Asset by the front of his tac gear. He shook him violently, snarling, spittle spraying against the Soldier’s face as he spat furious words the Asset wasn’t even hearing in his drug-induced haze. 

“Jack! Stop!” Brock had snapped out of his vulnerability and instead was on his feet, putting himself between the Soldier and Jack. He shoved at Jack’s chest to push him away, throwing a punch in for good measure. “You don’t fuckin’ manhandle him like a fuckin’  _ dog _ ! Especially not when he’s meant to be mission-ready!” 

“It came on my  _ hand _ , the filthy thing!” Jack spat back. “It came on my  _ hand,  _ but it was meant to come inside  _ you _ !” 

Brock fought hard against the flinch he wanted to make at the thought. He barked back, mustering himself up to full height as he moved to shield the Asset with his body. “Fuck you, asshole! You’d have to  _ make me _ let him fuck me!” 

Jack’s anger vanished so suddenly, it should have been startling to witness. But not to Brock; not when he lived with the split-second mood changes every day anyway. He’d grown near-numb to it - or perhaps, he’d just grown to be more of an idiot than he’d already grown up being told he was. “You’re right, Brock. You’re  _ right _ . I  _ would  _ have to force you down to get him inside you. I’d have to force the Asset, too.” 

Brock let out a relieved sigh, but he should have known better than to think that Jack was backing off, because before Brock could even  _ breathe _ , Jack had shoved past him and taken the Asset by the shoulders, forcing him down to the ground and laying him on his back. “What the -  _ Jack _ !” 

“Then why don’t  _ you  _ fuck it, Brock? That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Jack sounded so calm, so sure of himself now, but still, Brock was oblivious to the storm hiding beneath. “It’s what you think about at night when you’re playing with your cock thinking I’m fast asleep and don’t know about it.” 

“What - No, it’s not! I fuckin’ don’t  _ want  _ to fuck -” 

“- But you  _ do _ , and  _ behind my back _ .” Jack was still calm, the Asset laying still beneath his hands needlessly holding him down on his back. “Now, I’m giving you permission, Brock. Because I’m here to  _ watch _ .” 

“I’m not fuckin’ him!” Brock snapped. “He’s meant to be mission-ready, and he -” 

“Look at him, will you? So calm. So pretty. I bet you he’d let you do anything you wanted to him.” 

“But I -” 

The van coming to a screeching halt was the only thing to stop the argument, and for the first time, Brock found himself thanking gods he’d never believed in that Westfahl couldn’t hear them from the front, separated from their conversation by the reinforced barrier between front and cargo hold.

Jack sneered loathingly at both Brock and the Asset. He snatched a rifle from the weapon rack on the other side of the van before he spat out, “You both got off lucky this time.” 

And with that, Jack cocked the gun and kicked the back doors open to investigate whatever Westfahl had slammed the brakes on for. 

Brock wasn’t aware of the single tear that rolled from the corner of his eye and down his cheek. All he could do was stare down helplessly at the Asset, so high on drugs, Pierce was going to ream his ass for the mission going to shit already. 

Reluctantly, Brock grabbed a rifle to join Jack outside, finding that he didn’t think he’d really care if he were to be shot through the head and killed.

***

As expected, the mission had gone to all shit, and the worst part of it was knowing that Brock couldn’t even put  _ why  _ in the mission briefing; if Pierce knew how easily Jack had gotten HYDRA’s prized Asset drugged out of his mind, Brock wouldn’t just be put in front of a firing range; fuck, he’d likely be tortured for weeks, probably even months or years before finally putting him out of his misery. 

And the worst part of it all was, no matter how much Brock knew it hadn’t been his fault, he couldn’t deny Jack whispering into his ear about how he should have been better and done something before it got to that point. 

Extraction wasn’t scheduled until 08:00 hours the next morning, and until then, they’d holed up in some fancy motel in bum-fuck nowhere. There was a saving grace to this, however; mission protocols were that no one was to room alone for safety precautions, and since Brock was the Soldier’s handler, it fell on him to share the room with the deadly murder weapon and hope he woke up the next morning. 

The upside to the danger was that it meant Jack shared with Westfahl, and Brock had a somewhat quiet night to himself for once. 

Well, as quiet as it could be for having to take care of a drugged-up Asset. 

“Shh…” Brock wiped the damp cloth over the Soldier’s sweat-coated forehead. He crossed his legs, making himself more comfortable as he sat on the bed beside the sprawling Asset, the TV long-since nothing but background static. “It’s okay… You’re okay…” 

The Asset had been stripped out of his gear and wrapped up in blankets, the full-body sweating terribly uncomfortable for clothing. He was quaking violently, his teeth chattering as little whimpers and moans escaped him. Every so often, he mumbled indistinguishable words, so soft that Brock wasn’t always sure he’d spoken at all. 

But when the Asset had seemingly sweated out the worst of the drugs and had laid somewhat quietly for a while, tremors wracking his body every-so-often, Brock’s attention had eventually drifted idly back to the TV. He’d almost thought the Asset had fallen asleep, so when the Asset rolled himself over slowly to lay on his side and nuzzle his face against Brock’s thigh, Brock hadn’t thought much of it. 

That was, until the tiniest, most pained little whimper caught his attention. “Stevie…” 

Brock sighed. He brushed damp strands of chocolate brown from the Soldier’s eyes as he realised what this meant; another wipe, and yet again retraining the Soldier to recognise him as his handler. 

And the worst part? Brock knew none of this was his fault, so why did the weight feel so  _ crushing?  _


End file.
